Acceptance Is Easy
by ifonly-criedthewoodpecker
Summary: When the darkness resets its tendrils within Rumple's head, he hears the voice of someone he never wished to hear again. However, he had no idea how alike they both were (and how different).
_I decided to write a bit of fic based on my random theory that Rumple could possibly hear Dark!Hook in his head. IDK. Anyways, enjoy?_

* * *

Accepting the darkness was _not_ something that he needed assistance with. _Goodness knows_ he had done that perfectly on his own.

However, perhaps the darkness didn't feel the same, or maybe, at this point, the darkness was starting to reject _him_. Whatever it was, he had no idea why it had to elicit _this._ Guilt was the last thing he needed right now, as he descended into the underworld. Guilt would only make him weak, and as he stared down the phantom before him, he could feel the power flowing off of him in waves.

The same blue eyes that had sneered at him from his towering position on the deck of his ship, and had glared daggers of pain that would only fuel the power within him on the same deck years later, instead coolly regarded him from a distance. Seemingly devouring every piece of his rotten soul with the forget-me-nots lodged in his skull.

It wasn't until later that he found out how true that was.

* * *

It was late. They needed rest. They needed to think about how to proceed.

Those were the excuses given by Snow at the sight of her daughter's tear sheened eyes, after the run-in they'd just had with the blue-haired Demon with a blood drenched hook. What went unsaid was that if they did continue, the only thing they'd be fueled by would be worry, and worry is not what they needed. They needed strength.

Luckily for them, a Dark One resided in their presence. After his coma-like state, he supposed the lack of sleep granted with the abundance of power wouldn't be much of a bother. He would stand guard as the rest of them sat pitying the pirate. He needed time to think, anyways.

So think he did. He thought of how he could have possibly ended up here; saving his enemy from the pits of hell. He thought about how he could again deceive Belle in order to keep her from realizing that his heroic standards had once again been corrupted. And he pondered the way his regained power felt, tingling beneath his skin. It tickled the tips of his fingers, and the power seemingly jutted out at his knees and elbows, like a all-encasing chill would. He sat, letting the magic flow through him, and gently attempted to make a fire appear in the palm of his hand.

A voice greeted him instead.

"Enjoying that, are you?" an all too familiar voice echoed in the corners of his mind, ripping him out of his reverie. "Because, honestly, if you're going to enjoy it so much, I suppose that I don't even need to be here."

"So why _are_ you here, captain? Here to show me what I'm meant to do?" he asked, desperately wishing the hallucination would just leave. He couldn't stand the man who he'd faced in reality, he could only imagine the hatred he'd form for him when he knew what flowed through his mind, and was determined to use it against him.

"Oh no, of course not. You've already given us a place to reside, within that little head of yours. That's quite enough in our mind.

"I'm simply here to accompany you, seeing as, at this point, the darkness does seem to be your only companion. Plus, your magic will work better with a slight bit of..." his single hand animatedly waved about the air, as if he was searching for the right word. His eyes seemed to glow red, for but a second, and he stared straight into his eyes. "...inspiration."

"I assure you, my muse is full. I do not need a pesky pirate galloping about my mind, trying to upset me." His eyes narrowed, and he attempted to focus on anything but the ghost before him.

A smirk spread across his face, as he tilted his head and spoke.

"Ah, but of course. You shouldn't want an amateur, like myself, disturbing you. However, I'm being told that my work is not done. So, mind me if I sit next to you, as I'd much prefer that to standing all night." He took several long strides to the log he was sitting on, and did the same, resting his chin in his hand, and looking at him like an excited child would the person telling a beloved tale.

It was sickening to see a grown man with such a puppy-like expression.

The silence that fell between them (or- he supposed- between himself) was nearly deafening, drowning out the magic within him, and making his thoughts run rampant. At this point, as thoughts of insanity that he'd missed for but six weeks scampered through his mind, he almost felt the loss of not speaking to the man beside him. Even if it was just ridiculous bickering.

He said _almost,_ but the darkness seemingly can't read between the lines. (Written there was 'not at all.')

A child's voice interrupted the silence, and he nearly jumped out of his skin.

"You know, we're quite alike," it said, as his head jerked to the left.

Sitting there was a child somewhere between the ages of seven and nine, looking up at him with giant, blue eyes. He had floppy, brown hair and, now that he thought about it, looked quite a bit like Henry if it weren't for the blue eyes and the multitude of freckles that lived on his nose.

He looked hurt, broken, and lost, with the shine of heartbreak pooling in his eyes. He glanced down at his small, naked feet, and quietly added, "I was abandoned by my father, too."

It was at this moment that all the childhood memories he had of his father came rushing back, along with those of another. The boy before him.

Memories that were not his own of being afraid of the dark and left to cry entered his mind. He felt the terror. He knew the pain. Though he had never known what it was like to be told that he was a slave aboard a ship so that another could have a few planks of wood to row away on, he did know the feeling that resided in this boy's chest. He knew the ache that made itself known after a parent decided that something else was more worthy than their child.

This boy was lost.

And so was he.

"What are you playing at, darkness?" he sneered, as he realized this could only be a ploy. "Why are you showing me this boy?"

At that the child faded; disappearing into a puff of red smoke.

He sighed.

There was breath on his ear.

"We're a lot alike, you know," a deeper, more familiar voice than that of the child's said behind him.

He whipped to his right, this time, as he looked into the pirate's eyes once more. It was odd experiencing the sickening call of the dark from the standpoint of one who'd thought they had accepted all that it could offer.

It was almost eye-opening.

Almost.

The black that made up his vision's outfit morphed into something more innocent. It was brighter, and cleaner, and seemingly took years out of his eyes.

Perhaps that was more than just the outfit.

His eyes had that similar lost look in them, and they were rimmed with red. It was almost entrancing to see his enemy look so young. He even still had his hand.

"Both of us turned to something treacherous at the loss of the one person we loved, aye?" he spoke softly. It seemed that his voice was hoarse from crying.

Gold's brows furrowed as he watched the man before him (if he could even be called that; he looked so much more like a minor) let out a shuddering breath with a sullen slump of his shoulders.

"You lost your boy, I lost my brother, and both of us became monsters; stealing wives, stealing lives, and stripping people of their happiness."

With each word, a memory of his own past and one from that of the captain's would arrive in his mind, ripping and tearing away at the people they had once been. A physical example sat before him as each new memory caused a piece of his appearance to change.

White back into black, blue turned into red, a dark rim of coal replaced the red around his eyes, and eventually the youth was drained from his melancholy face; the older look on his features accompanying the glint of metal where his hand should be.

"We're both cripples, too, Crocodile," he noticed as he contemplated the hook. "Two examples of fear and stupid mistakes turning us into the dependent creatures we are. Needing crutches- literal- or the metaphorical crutches of magic, and alcohol, and power that we drowned ourselves in so that we could forget what we were once. Quiet, fearful children who needed to be so much more." His eyes gleamed in the moonlight as he looked up dramatically for a response.

"How poetic," he deadpanned, pushing past the way the words could or couldn't have affected him. "Move along, now, if you will," he said with a dismissive wave of his hand. He did not need the companionship of a creature in his mind.

His mind said otherwise.

"We're quite alike, you and I," said the same voice from beside him, only this time he sounded timid and small, the complete opposite of the version of the man that _he_ knew.

He looked to the side to see him dressed the same, and with the same face. However, the voice he used, and the nervous way his eyes flitted back and forth between the ground and Gold's eyes betrayed that he wasn't _truly_ the same man.

"Scared, cowardly, but hopelessly endowed to those whom you loved," he almost whispered, wistfully staring into the never ending sea of trees before them.

Memories hit him like a brick, this time. Those of injuring himself and returning home to Milah and his son, memories of letting Bae fall into the portal, memories of groveling on the deck of the captain's ship. Memories that fell all the way up to him and the others arriving in the forest of the Underbrook to make camp; hoping that the woods would be safer than the emotional hell that was the actual town.

And finally, he arrived at the memories that weren't his own. The memories of watching Milah's heart get ripped out, and Emma walking into the house of the sorcerer, and those of a man who also groveled on a ship and feared a captain. Who doubted that he could ever change.

It seemed that the were similar in that respect, as well.

A bark of humorless laughter made him aware of the presence next to him, once again. He looked at the space from which the sound emanated, but was met with empty air. He counted his blessings as the entity seemed to be letting him alone.

That was until he looked forward and found red in the place of everything else.

He jumped back and found that, once more, it was the figure of Dark Hook looming over him, but this time with eyes as red as the rim of a fire.

There was no pupil, and there was no iris. However, they still, somehow, looked to be filled with a mixture of mirth and hatred. He was laughing even as a despicable sneer graced his lips.

"Do you want to know how you and him are different, though, Rumple?" the beast questioned. It was no longer just Hook speaking. It was all of them.

"If you're going to insult me, come out with it," he spat, for he could deal no more with the thoughts in his own head.

He obliged.

"You see, that man, he ran on the strength he already had. He ran on determination, and loyalty, and courage that was laced deep within his bones, for better or for worse. But you, Rumple, you are a man who lives by his own cowardice. That man fought, you flee. That man spat, where you would of pleaded.

"He was brave, Rumple, and you're a coward. And even when he was a coward he was brave! So you shall never be the same! Because, despite all of the similarities you share with a man who fought and controlled with strength that he had imbedded within himself, who has people willing to go to other _realms_ for him, who nearly _obliterated_ what you hold closest to your heart- us- you will never be brave."

The creature stood with a smug grin on its lips that seemed to be a scarlet hue from the glow that came from its eyes, and it looked at him from under hooded lashes.

"You will never be truly brave, Rumple, but you can be strong. With us, you can remain the man who makes deals and steals and makes entire kingdoms shake within their boots and gauntlets. However, the man we stand before you as can never return to the real world. For he can destroy us, we've found. And, without us, you're nothing.

So what will it be?"

He did not need help accepting the darkness.

Hell, if anything, he needed a darkness intervention. (but maybe he'd already had that)

However, he had to say that the persuasion did help him get rid of the guilt.

So, now, without guilt, he was strong.

And he would keep it that way.

"I'll do it, " he said, but a moment later.

And in a puff of smoke, the figure disappeared, and his own thoughts could plague him once more:

 _How to kill a pirate..._


End file.
